


Harry and the Ink Demon

by RoseBloodCat



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also he might be possessed at the moment, Harry did not sigh up for this, I also don't own a copy of the game, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm making this up as I go, Trying to stay close to the story, but i'm trying, he just wants to draw cartoons, since little things keep changing in the game with each update, which is hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-01-09 09:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12273570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseBloodCat/pseuds/RoseBloodCat
Summary: Harry has had a love of Cartoons since his fifth year. Now that the war is over, he's gone to America to open his OWN studio of cartoons for Magical children. He is now the proud owner of the former Joey Drew Studios, on his first examination of the building, he finds MUCH more than he bargained for.Harry did not sign up for this.





	1. Begining

**Author's Note:**

> So, HUGE word dump here, but once I got stared writing for this, it kinda ran away with me. If enough people say they like this, I might post more. And feel free to send me questions about it. They help me figure out what the hell I’m doing!
> 
> Also, I'm now on tumblr! Check it out! https://rosebloodcat .tumblr. com/ Just take out the spaces!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry chats with a Cabbie, wonders if he has to break into his own studio, and is terrified by a floor.

Harry loosely sketched in a small, blank book in the back of his cab, the tip of his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. Flying to the states hadn't been easy, what with him having having such a "respectable" standing in the Wizarding world since the end of the war, but he was going to follow through on his plan for _his_ future. Expectations be damned.

"So, where you from Mac?" Harry jolted, his concentration broken unexpectedly by the Cabbie. The Cabbie was an older bloke, probably in his sixties or possibly his seventies, with silver hair that peeked out from under his cap and small rectangle glasses on his nose. He had the kind of wrinkles that showed he spent a lot of time smiling, which matched his friendly demeanor perfectly. Harry gave a sheepish smile, having been drawing a sketch of the man in his book.

"Little Whinging, over in Surrey, England. And the name's Harry, mate. Don't know anyone by the name of "Mac”, unless you’re talking about the car.” The cabbie grinned back at him through the rearview mirror. An expression which fit the man, in Harry's humble opinion.

"Really? You look more like a 'Henry' to me. What brings an English gentleman like you to the states?" Harry chuckled at the man's pleasant tone, unbothered by the friendly jab. He'd heard it quite a few times since his arrival in America. It was a rather amusing social view.

"You want the short version, or the full list?" The cabbie laughed at his snarky response. Harry was mostly trying to figure just _what_ he could say to the man while still keeping the conversation casual. He couldn't exactly tell the man he was a war hero looking to avoid being drawn into magical politics.

"Gimme the short version, won't be much longer till we reach your stop."

"I needed to get out of my family's shadow, especially with my... Career of interest being what it is."

"Oh, and what would that be?"

"I- well, my family's always been in law enforcement, police, lawyers, that kind of thing. But I- uh, I'm more interested in animation and cartoons." There, not a lie, but not the whole truth. The Potter's were actually famous for their involvement in _magical_ law enforcement, so that wasn't much of stretch to come up with. It was part of the reason everyone thought he would join the Auror's. But only _part_ of the reason.

The man laughed.

"So you're an Artsy fella then. 'Splains why you want to head to the old Drew Studios. I heard the place was bought up not too long ago, so you just might be the last "open public" visitor to the place." Harry saw the man's smile turn a litter sadder, his expression rather reminiscent, though his hands remained steady as he drove. "A real shame, that, the new owner'll probably tear the old place down. Replace it with one o' them fancy hotels or something."

"Maybe not, I suppose it'll really depend on the condition the place is in." The cabbie's eyes flicked back to Harry, looking surprised.

"What makes you think that?" Harry gave him a lopsided smile.

"I don't think it, mate, I _know_ it. _I'm_ the bloke who bought the place."

"Really?" He could see the man's face brightening, at the idea of the studio staying.

"Yep. I own all the cartoons now too. For some reason Drew thought it would be grand idea to link his rights to the characters with his rights to the land and the Studio itself. Not the brightest thing to do, in my opinion, but I'm not complaining." Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, a smile curving his lips. He had no intention of tearing the building down, not unless he didn't have a choice. He had a very different plan than putting up a hotel. "I want to start up the 'Bendy' cartoons again, turn the place _back_ into a full-on animation studio."

The cabbie let out a bark of disbelieving laughter, but there was no denying the delight in the man's expression.

"Wow, mac, that's one hechova goal you're aiming for." His smile turned nostalgic. Ah, he must've been a long-time fan of the 'Bendy' cartoons. "Hope you manage it. I remember going with my dad to the theater to watch that show as a kid. Some of the best memories I have of back then, what with the war goin' on. I'd love to be able to share them with my grand kids."

"That makes two of us mate. Though, don't expect a sudden turn out. Fixin' up an entire studio isn't an easy task." He sighed, leaning back in his seat. "I need to check the condition of the building, find out if any of the equipment is salvageable, possibly hire a construction crew, maybe an interior design crew, get a work force to actually _run_ the studio..." He ticked off his fingers with a sigh. So much work to do, but he was going to do his damnedest to make it happen.

"With how much the locals still love that old cartoon, I bet you could run the whole thing offa donations and volunteer work!" The cabbie said with a chuckle. Harry let out a thoughtful hum.

"I'll have to think about that mate, first I gotta find out what I need done for the place." He glanced out the car window at the darkening streets. Maybe he should have left earlier in the day to do his inspection. Night was approaching faster than he thought it would, though that could have been the cloudy sky playing tricks on his eyes. It was a good thing he'd decided to wear his rain coat that evening. It had been threatening a storm for the past few days, but now it _really_ looked like it was going to happen. He slipped his sketchbook back into his magically expanded satchel, pulling out his wallet to pay for the ride as the car slowed down.

"Welp, here we are! _Joey Drew Studios_ , home of 'Bendy the Devil Darling' himself!" The cabbie hesitated for a moment, turning to Harry with a somewhat meek smile on his face. "Hey, can I get your name? I- uh, kinda wanna tell some of the folks I know about what you're doing. And publicity's always helpful for new ventures, right?"

"Potter, Harry Potter. I got a couple ideas for the new studio's name, but I haven't settled on one yet." The man chuckled, accepting the payment the young man handed him.

"I'll keep an eye out for you in the papers, best of luck to you."

"Thanks mate, I may need it." Harry waved as the cab drove off, leaving Harry in front of his new "business venture". He drew in and steadying breath, and turned to face the old studio. And cringed at the sight of it.

Joey Drew Studios was... Even _more_ run-down and decrepit than Harry had been led to believe.

Even before it had been a studio, the old building had been a mill of some kind, meaning it had thick walls, a sturdy foundation and _lots_ of floors to be filled with people and equipment. Based on the floor plans Harry had seen, the main building was filled with cramped, crisscrossing hallways, scattered rooms of varying sizes and ventilation, and large bay windows that would have let in a wonderful amount of sunshine during the days. It wasn't a conventional building for an animation studio, but it obviously worked none the less.

Now, however, many of the once beautiful windows were either broken or boarded up or both preventing even the smallest amount of light inside the old building, the sturdy wood and plaster walls were covered in unidentifiable stains and graphity that had been accumulated throughout the years of disuse, the metal fire escape and rain spouts (along with every other piece of metal that had been left exposed to the elements) were so thoroughly covered in accumulated rust, it was a wonder they hadn't just _disintegrated_ by now. It was painfully obvious that they would need immediate replacement. The old building looked somewhere between haunted and _condemned_.

But he wasn't going to back now. Not when he'd already come this far.

From what Harry had managed to dig up before coming in person, it had taken years before Joey Drew had lost finally his rights to the studio. According to the accountants and Real-estate workers, there had been a sizable backlog of letter, inquires, old bills, and legal notices that had never reached Drew himself. They had apparently just built up in the post office until finally someone dragged themselves to his residence and found he wasn’t there anymore. And that wasn't the weird part.

Apparently, back in the early Sixties, Drew had made some… Questionable business and construction discussions. Many of which hadn’t made any sense then, and even _less_ in the modern day. Especially since he had filed for bankruptcy part way through his strange construction and ordering spree. Large orders of piping, wood, various building and construction equipment, _gallons_ of rubber ink (enough to fill an Olympic swimming pool), multiple fire axes, random reels that were actually too big to fit in projectors, a large number of stone bowls, a couple knives, and enough candles to light a small _stadium_.

The last few reminded Harry of _ritual_ supplies, but that could have been his paranoia talking. Even if he _was_ doing rituals, his access to the proper texts would have been limited at best as Drew had been a muggle. (Merlin, he hoped the man hadn't gotten any _real_ books of magic. _That would be so much paperwork for him_ )

In the mid Seventies, the entire studio collapsed. But not under normal circumstances. The entire cast and crew of Joey Drew Studios had just _vanished_. Almost over night.

The police had, of coarse, gone out to investigate, but found no signs of foul play. Just a particularly odd machine down one corridor that, as far as they could tell, had no tie to the disappearing employees. Not that they had been able to _do_ a full investigation. Large parts of the building had been made inaccessible due to the halls being locked down, boarded up, and generally being difficult to get too. It was eventually deemed a cold case, and left where it was.

Harry was far more wary of the circumstances, he knew better than to underestimate a muggle. If they had managed to create a weapon that could wipe out entire _cities_ , then the chances that they could find a way to use magic wasn't completely improbable. But without _proof_ of magic being used, the local ministry never investigated. (MASUCA, was the name, if he remembered correctly)

Even then things had been fairly quiet from the studio. There had been plenty of rumors circulating amongst the local youths of the era, claiming that the old studio was haunted. Strange voices from the lower floors, creepy images, and moving cutouts. The kind of "spooky" stories kids would tell each other to make their adventures sound more "Grown-up" instead of them just messing around in some place they shouldn't have been. Though nothing had happened since the crews' disappearance, Harry didn't trust that stay true forever.

Which was why he was there. He was going to give the building a thorough inspection himself, and search it from top to bottom for any Dark magic. He refused to bring anyone into a potentially dangerous place without making _sure_ they couldn't be hurt by whatever was inside.

The front of the building had a set of large, glass, double doors that had once opened to the building's lobby but, like the windows, they had been boarded up. They didn't look as though anyone had tried to pry them open, much to Harry's relief and ire. He knew that the children had been breaking into the old studio for years, but it looked like they hadn't tried to go in through the front doors.

"Okay, not the front doors. Let's try the loading doors then." The studio had it's own toy shipping area, and chances were the rust would have made it easier to get the old doors open. Teens weren't always the most... Graceful when they wanted to force their way into a place. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if one of them had broken the rusted doors open just so they could get inside. Harry made his way around the outside of the building, idly examining the paintings on the walls as he went.

_'Not as much crudeness as I expected,'_ He thought to himself, eyeing the rusted doors. _'Nothing a quick paint job couldn't clean up. Outside looks to be in pretty good shape, I have to admit. But it's the inside that I'm worried about.'_

The old doors were in surprisingly good shape. Oh, they were rusted to the point of uselessness, but there were no holes or signs of forced entry. Harry quietly approached the locked door, bending closer to examine the old, undoubtedly broken lock.

_'Now, the question is, is it forever open? Or forever closed?'_ Harry clasped the handle, giving it a firm tug. It rattled in a way that implied it wasn't rusted in place, yet it was obviously locked. Odd, it seemed in strangely good condition. He frowned thoughtfully. _'But how have the kids been getting in? Is there a side door that they could have used?'_

Deciding to check it out, Harry made his way over to the alley between the studio and the building next too it. The alley was strewn with trash, blatantly ignoring the dumpster bin sitting two thirds of the way into the alley. A dumpster that was sitting next to a door into the studio. Harry grinned triumphantly at the door.

Harry quickly approached, noting that the door was partially open.

Shoot, had someone already come in? He hoped not. Harry really didn't really feel like chasing some kid or haughty teenager out of the studio. Even if it was for their own good.

Opening the door the rest of the way, Harry peered into the gloomy hall. Barely lit by old flickering light bulbs, he couldn't see anything beyond a few flickering lights further inside.

"Hello? Anyone here?" He called, stepping inside and habitually pulling the door closed behind him. There were some posters hanging on the walls, depicting the little devil darling that the studio was best known for grinning out at him, looking far too cheerful in the gloom. A few paces in, Harry felt his blood freeze at the sudden, ominous creaking that came from the wooden floor beneath him. Slowly, he crept over to the nearest wall, pressing himself against it. The creaking lessened. The wizard let out a shaky breath. "O-okay, note to self: side door floor needs _immediate_ replacement, that did _not_ sound safe. Thank _Merlin_ it didn't give out under me."

_'Bloody stars, if I died from something as mundane as FALLING, Hermy would have resurrected me for the sole-purpose of killing me for doing something so stupid.'_ He smiled slightly at the mental image of Hermione raging at him over such a dumb thing. Harry inched down the hall, listening for when the creaking faded away. He may have been a wizard and a war hero, but he _wasn't_ immortal. It was better to not risk his neck in the first place. Harry let out a sigh of relief when the creaking finally stopped once he'd reached the end of the hallway. It opened up into a fairly large room, almost like an employee lobby.

The place was covered in old papers, with a counter between two of the supporting beams. An old projector was turned on, creating an eerie tune as it flickered back and forth between some blank reams on an old film reel. A cutout of the company's mascot, the Devil Darling' himself, stood next to the empty projection, looking rather creepy in the eerie setting. Three large reels were mounted on the wall, spinning in a loud, clunky manner, yet not actually doing anything (as far as Harry could tell). A light table by the back wall sat next too an old drawing desk, still alight and drawing power from an unknown source (The power had been turned off, that much Harry knew).

"Well, let's get started then."


	2. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is angry, a cut out appears, and a gruesome discovery is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, done with this one. It's a lot shorter than the last one, but I wanted to focus on the important pieces of the story. After all, listening to Harry wander around a studio with nothing really going on is actually kind of boring, right?
> 
> I think the descriptions came out pretty good, don't you?

Joey Drew, Harry had decided, was utterly _barmy_. The building had looked confusing on paper, but apparently the former studio director had thought it would be a _grand_ idea to turn the place into a full on maze.

Harry had already gotten lost _twice_ , but after living in Hogwarts for six years he had quickly gotten his head around his mental floor plan of the building. Though even that was a work in progress as he discovered the various changes Drew had made to the building. He was going to tear out a few of the walls, that much he'd figured out. But he'd found a few interesting things during his exploration.

He'd found a handful of tape recordings left by a few old employees (and they didn't sound very happy with their boss, not that he blamed them), some old drafts and model sheets of Bendy from the animator's cubicles/closets (he'd bagged those, even the one sticky note of an overly cutesy version of the little devil), an employee cafeteria (he was keeping that, unless the there were nasty magics on the lower floors), and a couple other knickknacks that may have belonged to former employees that he'd stowed away in his satchel. He wouldn't keep all the things he'd snagged, but having a few things to bid off to collectors would certainly help fund getting the studio up and running again.

He knew could be a klepto at times, a hold over from when he'd had _nothing_ to call his own, so a good portion of it would be stowed away at home.

Maybe he'd give a few of the toys to Teddy. Or Luna, she'd grown rather fond of the toons when he would draw them with her menagerie of creatures (She wanted to help at the company once he got it going).

But that hadn't been the most bazar discovery he'd made in the dilapidated studio, no. That honor belonged to the machine he'd found early on in his exploration. A contraption that looked like a warped chimera of a water heater, a fire hose pump, and a clockwork engine of some kind. It had made his skin crawl, and his magic roil inside him. Something about it just felt- _Unnatural_.

He wanted to blast the thing teeny, tiny pieces and hand the remains over to MASUCA’s Department of Mysteries. He didn't like it one bit, and when his instincts gave him those kind of warnings, he would usually listen to them.

But with how the piping from the machine wove into the building, he wasn't sure if destroying it was safe or a smart idea. For all he knew, it could have brought the studio down on his head. And now he had to turn the blasted thing on. He didn't want to, not even the curious side of his that had survived the war wanted to touch it, but he wasn't getting a choice in the matter. For _one single reason._

Drew had somehow turned the machine into the _main source of power_ for the entire Studio.

It was worse since Harry had been allowed to see the reports and _knew for a fact_ certain doors in the studio could _only_ be opened if the power was on. And the light would be needed as he went deeper into the building, what with all the windows being boarded up.

And if Harry was cussing out Drew as he stalked through the halls? Well, who would know other than him?

Harry rubbed his brow, struggling to ward off his impending headache. This was _not_ what he wanted to be doing.

_**THUD! Clatter!**_

He jolted in alarm at the sudden noise that cut through the mostly silent studio like a freshly sharpened knife. Harry's head shot up, green-eyes flicking about to find the source of the sound. His shoulders sagged in relief when he spotted what had caused the noise. It was just a board that had fallen from the ceiling of the t-section ahead of him.

"Bloody stars, that gave me a start. This place is gonna need more work than I thought," the wizard said with a tired sigh, running a hand through his bangs. He would need to re-tie his tie his hair soon, he noted, feeling various strands snag on his fingers. He strode further down the hall, squinting up at the spot where the board fell from.

"That's odd..." He muttered, squinting upwards.

Harry couldn't find the spot where the board had fallen from. There were no holes in the ceiling that matched it, and the boards that were there were pressed too close together to even be loose. It couldn't have fallen from there, unless...

He growled.

"Is someone pranking me? If there is, this _ain't funny_ lads!" He called, aggravation showing through in his tone and bringing out the slight Scottish/Irish verbal ticks he'd picked up from Seamus and Professor McGonagall. He glared at the ceiling, as though he thought if he glared at it long enough that it would make the hidden prankster reveal themselves and grovel for forgiveness. It didn't.

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head.

_'Now then, left or right?'_ he thought to himself, trying to think of where the break room might be placed. Of coarse it wouldn't be possible to pick up on the logic of a man as barmy as Drew most-likely was. He sighed and decided to just pick one at random. _'Let's try right.'_

He turned down the right path, following the small bend into an equally small room with six pedestals (Three on each side, evenly spaced, and looking almost as though they'd sprung right up out of the floor), and a large switch framed by two large black pipes against the opposite wall. It looked strangely, well, toony. Almost like someone had drawn it onto the wall, if it weren't for the faint shadows being caste, Harry would have thought he'd been punk'd by the same person who may-or-may-not have rigged the falling board scare earlier.

He didn't know how to describe how just plain _weird_ this place was for him to feel so unfazed by this.

"Well, I guess I've finally found the break room Franks mentioned in his recording. Now how do I get this thing working?" He approached the switch (lever? It was hard to really tell), which was oh-so-helpfully labelled 'Main Power' with a little 'Caution' sign placed right under it. A flashing screen sat next to it, reading 'Low Pressure'. He stifled a groan. "Oh, why can't anything ever be easy? Just _once_ in my life I'd like things to be simple."

He knew from the recording that he'd need something from each employee's desk to get things running, and there were six pedestals in the room. It wasn't much of a leap to assume he would need that many items (and he wasn't going to call them sacrifices, the term didn't sit well with him. _At all_ ). Now the question was, what exactly did he need?

He looked back at the pedestals, there was a picture behind each one. Perhaps the pictures were hints about the objects he needed to find? That seemed logical. Kind of.

"Let's see here, I'm going to need a wrench, an ink bottle, a toy, a gear, a book, and something related to music." He muttered, Harry dug through his bag for the things he'd picked up while wandering through the studio. Surely there were a few that would do the trick.

"I think the record I found would go with the music note." He set it on the pedestal, and froze when a soft humming started up, casting light on the object he'd just placed. Either there was one of those fancy pressure switches he'd heard about there, or there really _was_ magic at work there. He swallowed nervously, eyeing the pedestal with distrust.

"Th-then the ink well from one of the animator's desks." He hesitantly put it in place on it's appointed pedestal, and jolted when the same thing happened again.

"And the wrench." The process was repeated, right down to the eery light. They were the only things he'd found that matched the pictures, he'd have to go back through the studio to find the other three objects. He shook his head trying to ward off his anxiety. He really didn't like this.

"Now, where would those- ACK!!" Harry jumped in alarm when he turned around the corner and almost walked into a Bendy cutout that had most certainly _not_ been there a few moments ago. It was positioned right in the middle of the hallway, almost like it was trying to block his path. "Who put this here?!"

Harry scowled, his nerves still somewhat addled from the 'sacrifice' room. Someone _had_ to be pranking him. And it really _wasn't funny_. He started to wind himself up to track the prankster down and give them a piece of his mind ala Molly Weasley. But a flickering light caught his eye.

"What the-?" He knew that kind of light. After spending years in the magical world (where electricity was practically nonexistent), he would have had to be a fool not to.

That was the light of a candle. More than one. Who would be lighting a candle in a building full of flammable items like paper and rubber ink? Were they mad?! They could make the studio catch fire! Harry side-stepped the cutout, his expressions furious.

There was someone in the room with the candles. Someone wearing dull brown overalls and standing far too still. Harry quickened his pace, he anger fading with each step. He inhaled sharply once he reached the threshold of the room.

There was a body strapped to something that looked eerily like an operating table, hanging limply with their chest ripped open, ribs broken and wrenched wide, showing a hollowed out chest. Like their heart had been ripped out, and the rest of their body left to rot in the open. The scened looked even more horrifying with the light of the candles illuminating the from. And the wizard, though he'd never met them, recognized the person in question.

_'This-this can't be possible...'_

"B-Boris?" Harry stared in open horror at the scene before him.

Boris the Wolf had been Bendy's closest, and rather absent minded, friend. A sweet, lovable character who was more like an oversized puppy and didn't have a angry bone in his body. Harry had always had a soft spot for the wolf, he'd reminded the wizard of Hagrid and Remus. Intimidating in some aspects, but almost bursting at the seams with kindness for the people around him.

Seeing him strapped up like that, his insides exposed and with toony X's over his eyes, it seemed too surreal to be possible. Toons weren't real, it shouldn't be possible to-to _kill_ them like this. But the rancid smell that permeated the room said otherwise, a horrid combination of rubber ink and _rotting meat_. Harry reacted in the only reason way to finding and impossible cadaver, he bent to one side and _retched_.

Braced against the wall, the wizard kept heaving until there was nothing left his stomach to force out. He coughed hard, grimacing at the taste of bile in his mouth.

Harry wasn't a squeamish person, not since the war, but he just... He hadn't been prepared for that. He hadn't been prepared to find the-the _corpse_ of one of the cartoon characters he was so fond of. He raised his eyes to see inky writing scrawled on the wall.

_**"Who's laughing now?!"**_

_'Not me, that's for sure.'_ Harry thought, turning his mournful gaze to Boris' prone form.

"I wanted to know if magic had been used here, but this wasn't what I expected. This is just- Oh Boris," He breathed, his voice quivering as his eyes roamed over the Wolf's form. Flashes from the war flickered at the back of his mind, but he forced them back with a shudder. This was- He had to find out what happened here, how this was even possible, and more importantly, find out who had _done_ this.

Harry tore his gaze from the gruesome sight and started searching the room for something, _anything_ that could explain what had transpired here. But there was nothing, just Boris, the table he lay on, the writing on the wall, and an old, rather pathetic looking plush doll of Bendy. He would have to find his answer's elsewhere.

He carefully picked up the toy, knowing it was one of the things he needed, not daring look back at the wolf.

He hesitated at the door, he wanted to pull Boris down from the table and give him some respect by not leaving him like that. But MASUCA, from what he'd gathered, was far more strict about following the laws they laid out. They were closer to muggle procedures about law enforcement, Harry could respect that. He could respect them trying to keep the scenes from being tampered with and not risking important evidence being damaged. Even if his morals weren't happy about leaving a victim in such a state.

"I'm so sorry Boris, I can't do anything for you right now. But I promise, once the authorities know about this, I'll make sure you get the proper respects. You have my word." Harry said, his voice sounding pained as he looked back at the wolf. He had no idea if anyone, let alone Boris could hear him, but making the promise helped ease his mind. He steeled his resolve and headed back into the halls.

He had to locate the last two items he needed to "appease the gods" (and that was an _incredibly_ worrying phrase for something like this) to get things going. He could only hope ho could find his answers once that was done. But as he left he couldn't help asking,

_'Just what have I gotten myself into this time?'_


	3. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry fixes the Ink Machine, falls through a floor, and may possibly have ink in his undershorts.
> 
> Also, he found some coffins that may-or-may-not have dead bodies in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! This one feels kind of short, but that's because I didn't have my own copy of the game to prowl through for details. My laptop really isn't that great for PC gaming unfortunately.
> 
> On a similar note, does anyone know the link to a play-through or live stream of the most recent chapters that I could wither watch or download to get the full scale to flesh this story out? If so, please tell me where to go!

By this point, Harry was in a very bad mood.

He'd gotten the needed items to start the machine, only to find out that it wouldn't start until he'd fixed the flow. He'd seen the switch during his earlier exploring. Tucked into a corner of a projection room. On the other side of floor.

If Harry hadn't _already_ been cursing Drew's name, he certainly would have started then.

"This place is really started to get to me." Harry muttered, peering into the various rooms he passed. "I keep expecting something to- !!!" Harry let out a startled yelp as a Bendy Cutout popped out from behind a corner before ducking out of sight once more.

"Oh no you don't!" Harry snapped, taking the last few feet at a sprint and stopping at the doorway (almost slamming into the wall in his haste). There was no one there, the room was empty. There was a large puddle of ink next to the cutout, but no marks of it being moved or footprints on the floor. Not a single sign of someone being there. Harry bristled. "What in the world?"

He went down the single step into the small room, jolting when the projector turned on without him touching it. A simple animation of Bendy smiled mischievously at Harry, bouncing playfully where he stood on the projection screen. Normally he would have laughed at the sight of the playful demon, but with the down right _eerie_ atmosphere he only made Harry nervous.

He carefully moved around the projector, peering into the corner behind it to the flow switch. And no hint of whoever had turned on the projector.

This was getting to be too much for his peace of mind.

"Well, found the flow switch. Now I just need to turn it on," he muttered, choosing to put the strange happenings aside for the moment. He hadn't encountered anything malicious yet, so he would give the prankster the benefit of the doubt. For now, at least.

Harry leaned over and pushed the first sized button with a loud clunk. A loud rumbling broke the silence, along with a loud crash as the pipe in the room with him abruptly burst, spaying ink with the force of a fire hose all over the floor. The wizard swore vividly as he was suddenly ankle deep in rubber ink, which quickly soaked his shoes and started seeping into his socks.

"Oh, just what I needed." He grumbled irritably, trudging out f the room, down the winding halls and back to the power room (studiously avoiding looking at where Boris lay), his steps squelching the entire way. He shoved the switch to the "on" position with a _little_ more force than necessary, allowing some his frustration to be vented. "That blasted machine better be working now, or I _swear_..."

Harry stormed to the room with the machine, he could figure out where he would go next once he was sure it was working again. He could feel his magic roiling as the ink rumbled through the pipes woven through the building, pulsing like a demented heartbeat. He could hear a dull sloshing ahead of him and groaned.

Of coarse, he forgot the blasted thing had an opening on it. It was probably dumping ink _all over_ the floor. As if he needed _yet another_ mess to clean up. He turned the corner, and faltered in his step.

Someone had boarded up the room while he was gone. But when? He hadn't heard the sound of anyone hammering the boards into place. And why? Harry couldn't think of any reason to barricade it. The only thing in there was the machine, right?

He carefully approached.

"Hello? Anyone there?" Harry let out a startled yell as a black and white dripping form lurched up and lunged at him from behind the boards with a twisted white, toothy grin. A small, detached part of his mind wondered how a muggle could have made _any_ of this possible, while the rest of his mind was howling that _he was in danger HE SHOULD BE RUNNING **RIGHT NOW!!!**_

He blindly pelted down the darkening halls that were quickly filling with ink (ceilings, walls, _it was closing **in on him!**_ ), bouncing off of walls and leaping over fallen objects as fast as his feet could carry him, racing back to the door he'd come in through.

For moment, Harry had forgotten something very important. He'd forgotten about the weakened floor in front of the side door. The one that needed repair and creaked dangerously when he'd put his weight on it. It had managed to hold up under his own weight before, but with the additional weight from the rubber ink, it shattered as soon as his foot landed on it. And the wizard fell with a terrified scream.

Years of Quidditch practice kicked in as Harry twisted mid-air, pushing his bag so that it wasn't underneath him, and trying to land in a way that wouldn't result major bodily harm. He hadn't entirely succeeded on that front, but the gallons of ink that had tumbled down with him did an _excellent_ job of breaking his fall so that he didn't snap an arm or a leg. He'd still let out a pain filled cry when he slammed into the ground, stars and ink filling his vision as he clutched his throbbing side. He was fairly sure he'd gotten ink in his mouth too (he _really_ hoped his magic was strong enough to keep him from being poisoned by the stuff), but it was the stabbing pain from hip that held his attention.

"Of all the things I had that I could land on, why did it have to be my _keys_?!" He swore, writhing from the pain of his fall and the pain of his side. He laid there for a few moments, waiting for the pain to fade enough for him to move. He slowly rolled out from under the dripping ink, hissing in pain, and looked up the shaft he'd fallen down.

A shaft. He had fallen down a shaft. Why the hell would there be a shaft in- Oh, wait a moment.

This was an old mill building, of coarse there would be shafts to get the heavy equipment from the lower and upper floors to ground level. Drew must have covered it with cheap wood to turn it into a hall after deciding he didn't need the shaft in question. That made perfect sense. A perfectly reasonable leap of logic.

What didn't make sense was the... _Thing_ that had chased him. It had looked like a warped, half-melted version of Bendy, with it's shredded (melted?) tie, wide grin and it's dripping form. But that wasn't- Bendy wasn't supposed to belike that! The little devil was supposed to be a friendly character, barely taller than most ten-year-olds! He loved kids and pulling pranks and never liked hurting people unless they had done something to deserve it! He shouldn't have been...

Harry didn't know what to think about _any_ of this.

"I-I need to get out of here. This-This is _way_ beyond my skill level." Harry said, his voice shaking as he slowly climbed to his feet. "I need to get out and have a proper team of Aurors handle this."

He toyed with the thought of Apparating out, but he didn't think he could pull it off right then without splinching himself. And he liked having all his limbs attached thank-you-very-much. Well, that and he wasn't quite skilled enough to apparate all the way back to the house he'd bought from the studio basement(?).

He'd just have to make his way out the old fashioned way. There were multiple ways to get out of the building, and there being a shaft in a former-mill this size implied there were _more_ of them that had been in use. Ergo, he could probably find more doors that had been boarded over that could be quite easy to open and therefore escape the studio. Having a plan of action (no matter how theoretical) helped calm Harry's anxious mind, clearing his thoughts and letting him focus.

He carefully moved out the closest door (the other was barricaded for some reason, he didn't want to find out why) and limped down the stairs beyond. The lower floors looked to be flooded with ink, and Harry cringed at how deep it was (there would be ink in his _undershorts!_ He was sure of it). Gritting his teeth, he waded into the cold, thick liquid making his way to the next door.

Which he couldn't open because of the weight of the ink. How _delightful_.

“There's gotta be a way to drain this stuff.” He muttered to himself. “I just need to find it.”

Thankfully there was a valve nearby that could drain the ink away, making it possible for him to keep moving. He couldn't help wondering just how _often_ the pipes burst when he encountered more flooded hallways that _also_ had drainage valves.

In one room there was an axe hanging up on one wall, and Harry was quick to snatch it. He wanted to have more than his wand to protect him in this place. (Along with the phrase _**“The Creator lied to us”**_ written on one of the walls in ink at the height of the monster he'd seen earlier. He really didn't want to think about the implications of that)

It wasn't anything special, just a simple fire axe made from old wood and probably wouldn't survive for very long, but it would do for now. Any delay to let him make use of his wand was a good idea. And it would be smart to have a close range weapon if that monster tried to get the drop on him. \

It was quickly put to use, hacking away boards that blocked doorways and forcing jammed doors open. (He would only admit to himself that the violence was actually rather cathartic to his tense mind and wound-up muscles)

Progress was slow through the lower levels, but Harry was just glad the monster he'd seen hadn't decided to follow him down. Or try to spring a trap. He would take what he could get in a situation like this. Forcing open another door, Harry's heart sank to his knees at what he found inside.

Like many of the other rooms he'd made his way through thus far, it was small (barely bigger than a sewing room), and cramped with clutter that made it feel even smaller. But it was the _contents_ of the clutter made the wizard feel cold.

Slowly burning candles, haphazardly placed furniture, and and a disturbing number of _coffins_ were strewn about. The center of the floor had been left clear of objects, but it was not left un-marked. 

Rituals weren't really on Harry's list of skills, but he knew enough to recognize a summoning circle when he saw one. And the coffins left a _very good hint_ at the kind of magics being used with it. He could practically _taste_ a fresh wave of bile building in his throat but managed to swallow it down.

"By Morgana, what was that fool _doing_ here?" He edged closer. He'd picked up a lot of his skills and knowledge from Hermione about this branch of studies, so he knew a fair bit about it. Maybe, if he could decipher some of the symbols, he could figure out how to counter the magics that had been used.

Harry scratched through his limited knowledge to get a handle of what was there.

A simple circle with a five point star inside. At first glance it looked like a pentagram (a simple, protective seal, meant to heal, protect and purify), but there were other marks that weren't meant to be there. A circle in one section, a triangle in another, and a curious quarter circle in a third section. Those weren't supposed to be in a pentagram. What was it Hermione said about foreign symbols effecting the nature of a spell?

Kneeling next to the seal, Harry pulled his wand from the holster hidden in his sleeve and started pulling on his magic. Perhaps he could cast a few scanning spells to find it's flow and undo it from there. He raised his wand.

He never got the chance to cast a single spell. A wave of magic roared from an unknown source, possibly reacting to the build-up from Harry himself, and slammed into the wizard with all the force of a proverbial freight train. Images flashed through his mind (not unlike the one time he'd managed to turn the legilimancy spell back on Professor Snape), spurring a pain like someone was trying to drive an _icepick_ into his skull.

Harry howled in agony, clutching at his throbbing head, wand falling to the floor with a clatter. He curled in on himself, clawing at his hair as though he could rip out whatever was hurting him like this.

The pain reached a crescendo black spots seeping into his vision, and the world fell away from him.


	4. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up, doodles on a cutout, has some weird thoughts, and fights some monsters.
> 
> Nothing too weird for him.

_That tears it,_ Harry thought, his aching head slowly rousing him from unconsciousness. _If Joey Drew isn't already dead, I'm going to_ kill _him. Slowly. With a rusted spork._  

Harry was sure now. This place was coated in dark magics. The only things that would react like that to a wizard just _getting ready_ to cast a spell would be sentient magics. And Light magic would have simply repressed any of his spells, not outright _attacked_ him for trying to use magic. He'd probably have to call in the Unspeakables to clear it out.

But the images he'd received had baffled him.

The Bendy-like monster from earlier, an empty wheelchair, and the bizarre machine from earlier? It was almost like the magic had been trying to tell him something.

He paused at the thought, his headache slowly ebbing away.

If Drew _had_ been using dark magic on his employees, then it _was_ possible that the magic had been trying to warn him. Drew had no magic of his own (that Harry knew of) so the results he got would have been a hotpot of intentions built on those involved in the spells. It was entirely possible that the former employees had been against Drew's experiments, and they _could_ have reacted to his magic and tried to communicate with him.

Theoretically at least.

Magic was fueled by will, emotion, and intention. Anything was possible if someone _wanted_ it badly enough. How else would Magicals be able to travel through time itself? Or jump between countries in seconds? Or being able to pull someone back from the brink of death? They had to want it to happen, and magic would do the rest.

And... That was a rather disturbing train of thought, if he was going to be honest with himself. It meant that the old employees _were still there_. Trapped within the building they had died in and unable to leave, probably by the very person who killed them.

Harry shook his head, suppressing a cold shudder at the idea.

“I can't just sit here and speculate,” he muttered, looking around for his wand. “Only thing I can do for now is press on and try to find a way out of this mad house.” He sighed, finally finding his wand and stowing it away in its holster. He leaned over and snatched the ax he'd set aside earlier, before collapsing. He really hoped he wouldn't experience that every time he tried to use magic, it would make escaping that monster incredibly difficult if it caught up with him again. He knew he'd have to use magic to have even a _chance_ against it.

Harry gingerly rose to his feet, checking for any injuries he could have missed during his prior escape attempt. Beyond some bruises and a still rather painful ache from where he'd landed on his keys, there was nothing serious.

He looked back at the way he'd come, and spotted broken boards and dripping ink blocking the way.

“That's not good. The floor must've collapsed while I was out.” Harry felt a flicker of worry building in his chest. That could only mean that the floors were no longer stable. Worse still, they could crumble down around him at any moment and crush him. That was incredibly dangerous, and definitely lethal.

He needed to get moving, and fast.

The ax was put to use once more, hacking boards off the only door present, and Harry once again made his way forward. Opening to _yet another_ flight of stairs Harry descended them cautiously, stilling when a plank of wok fell from the ceiling, and then continuing onward. Yet another nail in the “Unstable building” theory. He really hoped he could get out before the place went down.

Harry faltered at the bottom.

There was a shrine at the end of the hall.

A shrine with a bendy image, a banjo, and a bunch of bowls filled with rocks(?) and ink. A long with some (most likely expired) cans of Bendy Bacon Soup.

And more sloppy, inky, writing on the walls than made the Wizard bristle. 

**_“He will set us free”_ **

“He'd better hurry up then.” Harry muttered, right before his mind supplied various, highly unpleasant (and lethal) meanings to the phrase, which prompted a shudder from the green-eyed male. He turned to room the corner altar was attached to, finding another, larger alter, more coffins, and yet another tape recorder.

Harry strode over to the recorder. If he was lucky, it would tell him of an escape route that would let him avoid the monster he'd seen upstairs. He picked it up and pressed the play button. The voice that came out sounded- wrong, like it didn't truly belong there. He immediately hated the tone that the speaker used.

That kind of evangelical worshiping tone one would expect from a church-goer of _rabid_ faithfulness, and _questionable_ sanity.

* _“He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me_

_“Those old songs? Yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final, loving embrace._

_“But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”*_

“No, you may not.” Harry muttered, glaring at the recording. _Obviously Sammy's gone around the bend._ He paused, brow furrowing in confusion. _Wait, how did I know that? Unlike the others, this tape player isn't labeled._

“I _said_ can I get an Amen?”

Harry swore audibly, whipping around and swinging the ax upward as he did. All he managed to do was embed it in the wall at head level. And there was no one there.

Damn, so much for his preemptive strike.

He pried it from the wall with a grunt, still peering around to find the mystery speaker. He couldn't see them.

“Bloody stars, I need to get out of here. There is something _wrong_ with this place.” Shaking his head, Harry made his way through the short hall leading away from the recording. He paused at the cut out at the end of the hall, then dug into his bag. The cutout was innocent enough, but right then Harry wasn't feeling very charitable towards the Dancing Devil. He _could_ have destroyed it with the ax, but that idea left him twitchy. He grinned, finding his item of choice and turned to the cutout. A marker was brandished.

“Sorry 'bout this mate, but I need some comedy to lighten the mood.” With that Harry pulled the cap off the marker with a flourish and set to work. Once he straightened up, the cutout was sporting a set of glasses and a rather dapper-looking mustache. “There! Now don't you look just smashing!”

He gave a tired smile, feeling a tiny bit better. Horror movie atmosphere or not, this was still a cartoon studio. And comedy was par-the-course for Toons.

He grimaced after rounding the next corner though, as it opened to a corridor that was flooded with ink. As if he wasn't _already_ drenched in the stuff. With a frustrated sigh, he supposed he couldn't get any dirtier, and started slogging through the muck.

At the end of the hall he spotted a strange humanoid figure carrying and Bendy cutout passed in front of the doorway, muttering as it walked. Harry took a startled step back, something in his chest tightening (Fear? Why would he be afraid?), then forced himself to keep moving. He raised his voice, calling out to the stranger.

“Excuse me! Hey! Can you help me? Hello?” He sped up, struggling through the ink that seemed to cling to his legs at his increase in speed. He stumbled around the corner, but the stranger wasn't there. “The hell? Where'd he go?”

Staring back at him was a single cutout leaning against a wall (with _yet another_ overly complex pentagram drawn on it) that certainly wasn't going to answer him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He _really_ didn’t like this place.

Harry turned around with a sigh. That way was obviously a dead end, maybe the other path would be more helpful?

_Well, so much for that idea…_ Harry thought, finding a metal barricade blocking the way. Was this one of electric doors the report mentioned? How the heck was he supposed to open it? _Blast it all… Now what?_

Something drew his eyes to the walls, there had to be a way to open the door. Green eyes landed on a strange box with a lever and three lights mounted on it. Was that the door switch?

_‘The lights are out. They need to be lit up to open the door.’_

Harry blinked at the odd thought. That didn’t sound to crazy, most electronics had a “power light” that had to be lit before they would work. But there were three lights. Did he need to get all three to turn on?

_There must be some kind of power switch for those lights. I’ll have to go back and look for them._ Harry started backtracking, moving various wood planks and soup cans in his search, pressing each switch as he discovered them. _Alright, that’s all three of the switches, let’s see if I can get that door open now._

He went back to the door, pulling the panel lever once he’d confirmed the lights were on. It slowly opened with a loud clatter, making Harry wince at the sound.

_‘Sounds like that thin’ needs a good dose a WD-40. Maybe even a whole can of it.’_

Harry sighed, moving into the small passage that had been revealed, hefting up his ax again to cut the boards block his path. The new area was actually _dimmer_ than the halls he’d passed through earlier, but he could still make out important details.

Like the large notice board proclaiming the new place as the “Music Department”, with various records and music notes decorating it.

“Well, at least now I know where I am...” He muttered, peering through the gloom. He spotted yet another tape recorder sitting on a small shelf by the notice board. He trotted over, pressing the play button. “Let’s see if _this_ one has anything useful on it.”

_*“So first, Joey installs this Ink Machine over our heads. Then it begins to leak. Three times last month we couldn’t even get out of our department because the ink had flooded the stairwell._

_“Joey’s solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I have this ugly pump switch right in my office. People in and out all day._

_“Thanks Joey. Just what I needed. More distractions. These stupid cartoon songs don’t write themselves, you know.”*_

Harry gave a sympathetic wince. That… Did _not_ sound fun. Sammy sounded saner in this recording, but he definitely wasn’t happy with his boss. It was a wonder Joey even _had_ employees if this was how he was treating them.

_Okay, so I need to find the stairwell that may-or-may-not be flooded with ink. Delightful. Knowing my luck, it’ll be flooded._ Harry turned, he was fairly sure this was the “Lobby” (so to speak) of the department, therefore the stairwell shouldn’t be _too_ far away. His gaze fell on a doorway that was almost _right next_ to the doorway he’d come in through. _I’d bet sickles to Cauldron Cakes that that’s the stairwell Lawrence mentioned._

He trotted over and let out a resigned sigh.

He was right about it being the stairwell. Unfortunately, he was also right about it being flooded with ink too. Great.

“Well, guess I’ll need to use that ink pump after all.” He almost turned completely when he spotted _yet another_ lever in the wall, this one labeled “Power Switch”. He shrugged, maybe it was put in later to turn on the pump. At the very least it could turn on the lights. He pulled it to the on position with a sharp tug and was rewarded with a tell-tale clunk that signaled _something_ turning on _somewhere._ Sadly, it wasn’t the ink pump like he’d hoped.

Harry turned back to the music department, only slightly mollified by the lights being on now. Something inside him lurched, and he paused.

Something wasn’t right.

His instincts were whispering that something had changed when the lights came on, though he couldn’t _see_ anything different.

Harry slid a hand into his sleeve, drawing his wand and palming it in his left hand while raising the ax in his right, falling into a classic dueling stance (Krum had taught it to him, after discovering that Harry had never been taught how to defend himself properly). He peered out of the small landing into the rest of the room, slowing inching out of his “safe” spot.

Harry froze when a chilling moan cut through the air. A large black ink puddle bubbled up through the cracks in the floor, slowly rising up from the floor and forming a creature of some kind. It was only a torso, grimly deformed with a concave stomach. It had an orbed, bald head, on a far too thin neck. It’s face was as deformed as the rest of it, empty eyeless sockets and a tapping toothless maw, opened in a wet, eerie groan. Long spindly arms bearing three, unnaturally long fingered hands clawed at the floor, dragging its body closer to him.

The grim creature's body reminded him of an Infirni. He had a horrible feeling that, like an Infirni, the creature before him may have once been human as well. It made him sick with anger. Another sickly moan rang out, and another creature appeared, and both lunged at the Wizard, reaching out for him.

He reacted on instinct, firing a blasting curse at the strange creatures, popping like thick tar pool bubbles. Harry’s head abruptly throbbed in pain, making him stagger back. He forced it back as more of the ink creatures formed dragging themselves closer. He cut down the next ink monster that lunged at him with the ax, using a banishing hex to buy himself a breathing moment before trying to continue fighting. He’d nearly gone cross-eyed at the  migraine that slammed into him, but he kept fighting. (He could handle this. He’d fought Voldemort while the man was using legilimency on him, he could handle a couple ink monsters)

He’d lived through a magical civil war, he was _not_ going to let himself be taken out by a bunch of ink monsters made by a half-cocked muggle playing with magic he didn’t understand! (Something inside him was curling in on itself, he ignored it)

Harry felt a snarl build in his throat, and lashed out again with the ax, cutting down another monster that lunged at him. Three more rose up, but were taken down just as easily. _(they were unstable. Weak. Little more than canon fodder for anyone they rose against.)_ The fight was difficult, but short.

He was breathing hard by the end of it, leaning against one of the walls, holding back the nausea caused by balancing fighting ink monsters with a throbbing headache. It felt far too much like an illness-level migraine, and he really didn’t want to vomit again.

_This is going to take a while, isn’t it?_


	5. Eschewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is knocked out, a ritual is sloppily attempted, Harry is questioning the state of his mind, and a Good Boy appears.

It had taken longer than he would have liked, but Harry had finally gotten into the Music Director’s office to throw the pump switch that would drain the stairwell of ink. He had to compliment Mr. Lawrence on the complexity of his Musical Puzzle. It took Harry a number of tries to get it right. And he did _not_ give in to the childish impulse of _intentionally_ doing it wrong to find out how many cutouts would appear in the orchestra pit. _Really._ _(He was_ _**so**_ _glad Hermione wasn't there with him.)_

He stood silently in Mr. Lawrence's office, staring down at the papers strewn over what had once been the Music Director’s desk. He frowned, shuffling around the papers and carefully reading them over.

From what little he'd gathered about the man in question, Sammy Lawrence was a musician and had no interest in messing with the Ink Machine (unless it was to shut the blasted thing down). Yet there were blueprints for the Ink Machine on the desk in his office. A _second_ Ink Machine. But why? Why would there be blueprints for the Machine in the _Music_ Department, of all places?

Harry was pants at mechanics (electronics in general if he was going to be honest with himself. ( _Something in his head twitched)_ ), he knew that. The same went for most British magicals. He'd only gotten as far as he had based on guesswork and gut feelings. But if there were _blueprints_ for the machine, then maybe someone _else_ could figure the blasted thing out. And maybe they could even figure out how to undo the damage that had been done with it.

Perhaps Hermione would know something about this sort of thing? Out of all of them, she had done the best at keeping up with her non-magical education outside of school. At the very least, he would need to hand them over to the Unspeakables to be studied.

Nodding to himself, Harry carefully rolled up the plans and neatly tucked them into is satchel (he was so glad he’d brought the magically expanded bag with him).

“Alright, time to see if the stairwell is finally clear. And then I can finally get out of this mad house.” Harry muttered, striding out of the office and back down the gloomy hallway. He ignored the uncomfortable twitching of his nerves, telling him that something was off right then. He really hoped there weren’t more ink monsters getting ready to attack him.

It was just the stress of creeping around this eerie place getting to him. At least he hoped it was, his grip tightening on the ax (He had returned his wand to it's holster long ago, finding it easier to get things done with one hand free). He needed to focus on getting out of there in one piece and alerting MACUSA about what was in the Studio. Everything else could come after that. Harry rounded the corner, his focus on the doorway to the stairwell and the exit that lay at the bottom of it.

_**CLANG!** _

The back of Harry's head erupted in pain, stars appearing before his eyes and black quickly seeping into his vision. Harry felt himself crumple to the floor, the ax falling from his fingers with a clatter.

“Rest your head, it's time for bed.” For just a moment, he glimpsed the strange figure he'd seen earlier standing over him, and his vision went dark.

* * *

 Harry groaned, the world slowly slipping back into focus.

“There we go, nice and tight. We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn't.” Harry felt something cold and wet seeping into his clothes, and slowly pried open his eyes

He was met with the sight of a stained Bendy mask, which made him freeze in shock. He eyes took in more of the figure before him who appeared to be a man made entirely out of ink, wearing stained brown pants that were being held up on his frame by a pair of suspenders. He bore an uncanny resemblance to the creatures he’d had to fight earlier, but somehow he seemed to be in _worse_ condition, his body being far too thin and rippling in unnatural ways. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden wave of fear that gripped him.

_'Sammy'_ was the frightened whisper in his head, recognizing the being’s voice from the recordings of the Music Director that he'd found earlier.

“I must admit I am... _Honored..._ that you came all the way down here to visit me. It makes what I'm about to do seem... Cruel. But the believers must honor their savior. I _must_ have him notice me.” Harry's eyes frantically flicked about the room, wrists twisting against the rope, mapping out the room in a desperate attempt to find a way out of this. He could see his ax resting against a support beam with a speaker mounted on it. The post he was tied to was mounted in the middle of a ritual seal that had been drawn on the floor in ink.

“The time of sacrifice is at hand! And then I will finally be freed from this... _Prison._ This _inky... dark... abyss_ I call a body.” Harry wanted to speak, to say something, _anything,_ to stop this madness, but he couldn't get a single word past the lump of fear in his throat ( _this wasn't right, he's been in worse situations than this,_ _ **why was he terrified of this man?!**_ ). A hoarse, strangled sound finally escaped him. “Shh! Quiet! Listen! I can hear him. Crawling above. Crawling! The ritual must be completed! Soon he will hear me... He will set us free.”

The ink man moved away, dragging his feet as he made his way to a room positioned on side of the room.

_What is he doing?_ A small part of Harry's mind wondered. _You're not supposed to leave the area of a ritual when summoning something. Without any magical elements or items in the seal, the demon would be drawn to the summoner's voice._ The speakers above him crackled to life, and his captor started speaking.

*“ _Sheep, sheep, sheep, it's time for sleep. Rest your head, it's time for bed.In the morning, you may wake. Or in the morning, you'll be dead. Hear me, Bendy! Arise from the darkness! Arise and claim my offering!”*_

Harry's breathing picked up and he started fighting harder against the bindings. (He needed to get out. _He needed to escape._ _**He couldn't be caught by the demon!!)**_ He ignored Sammy's mad ramblings as the metal gate in front of him clattered open.

*“ _...Show your face and take this tender sheep! No! My lord! I am your prophet, I am your-”*_ Sammy's voice cut off with a terrified, blood curdling scream.

“C'mon, _c'mon,_ I needa' _get outta' here..._ ” He breathed, his magic roiling and flaring under his skin in response to his frantic, scattered emotions. Harry stumbled forward, nearly falling on his face, when the ropes abruptly vanished. He lunged for his ax as more ink monsters formed around him, closing in on him. He wrenched the blade up, letting it dig into the nearest monster.

Harry forced his way to the passageway that had opened, cutting down any monsters or wooden planks that barred his path. He swore when the ax abruptly snapped in his hands. He looked around, his fear fading slightly. He nearly sagged in relief when he spotted a door a head of him. A wonderful door marked “Exit”. A small part of his mind twitched at the large room full of ink between him and the door.

“Thank Merlin. Now I can finally get out of-” Harry cut himself off with a choked scream as 'Bendy' surged up from the pool. Harry stumbled back, a fresh wave of terror flooding his senses, and bolted down the branching hallway. Pelting down the winding halls in a blind panic, Harry followed a random path without thought, hoping it would lead him to safety.

‘ _There’s a way t’ escape, gotta get there!’_ Harry was breathing hard, rounding a sharp corner, he spotted an open doorway at the end of the hall and put on another burst of speed.

Bolting through, he seized the door and slammed it shut, shoving a board over it to hold it shut. Something slammed into the closed door, making him stumble back, but then everything fell silent. Harry held his breath, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. The door sat there silently, no sounds coming from behind it. He carefully moved closer, pressing an ear to the door and listening.

Nothing.

Had it... Had it left him? Why? Surely a such a plain wooden door wouldn’t have been enough to actually _stop_ that monster from chasing him further…

Harry took a half step back, he still couldn’t stay there. He needed to leave and find another way out of the Studio. This place was simply too dangerous for him to stay any longer. But he had a very big problem now. He had no idea _where_ he was in the building, or how deep underground he was, or what else Drew had done to change the building from the plans he'd originally seen, so he definitely couldn’t apparate out of there now. And he had no plans of splinching himself anytime soon.

He needed to find somewhere safe. Somewhere that he could sit down and _think,_ without being in danger _._

_'Gotta get to the safe house...'_ Harry paused at the strange thought.

A safe house? He didn't know about any safe house in the studio. Green eyes narrowed. He had been having a lot of strange thoughts and feelings since he'd woken in that odd ritual circle... Had it done something to him? The only ways he could check would be a diagnostic charm, or to use his limited occlumency skills to delve into his own mind.

He wasn't great at occlumency (and he never _would_ be, not with the damage Snape and Voldemort did. It had been hard enough to learn to make basic shields from Andy), but the idea of someone or some _thing_ getting into his head and messing with his mind in _this_ madhouse of a studio...

Harry jolted at the sound of a can falling and rolling out from behind a corner. He spotted a shadow ducking behind the wall, a nervous whimper echoing through the room. Harry whipped out his wand, training it on the hidden person.

“I know you're there... Come out and show yourself. But I'm warning you, don't try anything, I'm armed!” There was another whimper, then the sound of shuffling footsteps.

A tall lupine-yet-humanoid figure dressed in dull brown overalls stepped out into Harry's view, worriedly rubbing his hands together, his ears twisted back in his distress. The wizard sucked in a startled breath between his teeth.

“B-Boris? You... You're alive!” He almost couldn’t believe his eyes. He had been sure the corpse he’d seen up on the first floor had been real, yet Boris was standing in front of him, alive and unharmed.

Just _what_ was going on here?

 


End file.
